


It's a Working Process

by writesaboutboys



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, a bit OOC, hey i wrote a thing, idk what this is, soz abt that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writesaboutboys/pseuds/writesaboutboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of one shots about mickey and ian working towards certain things</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How About That Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> this is my very first fic in the shameless fandom so please be nice :-) ((constructive criticism is always nice)) loosely based on s03x03

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!” ian screams whilst attempting to catch his breath. and the next action to take place on mickey’s part can be blamed on the adrenaline surging through his veins. has to be. he wraps a hand around ian’s neck and pulls his face closer. ian’s pupils are blown, the green in them not even visible. and mickey’s mind is yelling for him to stop, but he can’t.  
  
it’s the adrenaline, he swears. in the next second their lips are crashed against the other’s. and shit. ian immediately parts his lips trying to get his tongue inside mickey’s and that’s when it all stops. mickey freezes before sucking in a breath and pushing ian as far as he’ll go. mickey shakes his head once, twice before turning around and sprinting down the alley. he can hear ian calling his name demanding him to “stop,” but he can’t. he won’t.   
  
he gets to his house, walks in and slams the door. “why are you so out of breath?” the abrupt voice startles him. and he breathes out once, twice, three times, then he turns to meet mandy’s face. “why the fuck do you think? i was fucking runnin’. not that it’s any of your fucking business.” mickey spits prior to turning around to stomp into the four walls he calls his room. he rubs his hands over his face. looking up at the ceiling, all he can see and taste and feel are those fucking pink lips on gallagher’s face. and he groans because, “fucking shit, that was a faggot thing to say.” and yeah, he’s a bit fucked.  
  
ian sighs one of those long sighs, but doesn’t even try to run after mickey. he knows if he’ll does mickey’ll just push him away again or ian’ll end up trying to force the milkovich into talking about something he doesn’t want to. so he shuffles home with this kind of furrow in his brow. his hand is hovering over the doorknob when it hits him. he just fucking kissed mickey milkovich. or mickey milkovich just kissed him, which is way better, if you ask ian. and suddenly a wide smile spreads across the red-head’s face.  
  
“shit,” he sighs out before opening the front door. “what the fuck are you so happy about?” lip smirks at his younger brother. “i-uh. nothing, nothing at all.” ian smiles sweetly, making his way up the stairs to his room. “yeah, i’ll find out!” lip yells towards the direction of ian. he falls down on his bed and he’s pretty blissed out before he realizes that mickey milkovich kissed. kissed him. and the question of why runs through his head over and over. and he can already feel a headache coming on, but he wants mickey’s lips back on his lips. it’s all he can think about and yeah, he’s fucked.  
  
it’s quiet in the kash and grab the next day. this kind of awkward vibe is circling around them and no matter how much ian tries to swat at it, it just won’t go away. skyler, the new girl that moved to the neighborhood not too long ago and immediately took up a job here, eyes them both.   
  
she’s weird, mickey and ian agree on that fact (as does most of the neighborhood), but she’s nice and funny and quirky and ian likes her. so lip got to liking her, debbie and carl not far behind. it was only when she picked a fight with jimmy the hip, the neighborhood thug that no one attempts to fuck with (only because they value their lives not because they’re cowards, thanks very), swiping a blade to his neck and threatening him that if he comes back he’ll “be missin’ a few vital organs and your hip,” that mickey gained a shit ton of respect for her. she has this strange kind of accent that often goes in and out. ian doesn’t know where it’s from. doesn’t ask. she wears a lot of combat boots and doc martens and she listens to a lot of weird fucking music and she always has a cup of tea with her. but she has this sort of adorable aroma that ian can’t help but be fond of.   
  
“what’s going on here? did you two accidentally say the L word when you last fucked?” she asks quite bluntly and mickey chokes on the pringles he’s eating before glaring at her hard (if anyone else had said that they’d be on the floor by now, blood and bruises everywhere, but mickey’s grown a soft spot for skye). “oi, don’t look at me like that, you two are the ones being weird. so what happened?” mickey doesn’t say anything to that, his eyes shifting all around the store, back and forth, anywhere but the two teenagers stood in front of him. ian sighs before grabbing skyler’s arm and dragging her to the back of the store.   
  
“ian, ouch.” she exclaims before yanking her arm back from ian’s hand and rubbing it. “sorry, but um-mickey and i-well it was mostly mickey. well it was both of us, but he started it and-” skye stopped him mid rant, “i still don’t know what happened, dipshit.” “wekissed,” ian mumbles out so quick, skye isn’t sure she hears him correctly. “repeat that,” she says moving in closer. “i said we fucking kissed.” and skye jumps back before letting out a high pitched squeal. ian slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes shifting to the still closed storage room door.  
  
“ew, get your hand off my mouth, it tastes like milkovich.” she adds a wink, just because she’s a bitch and ian hates her (not really). “fuck off,” he grumbles, placing his hands flat against the rack behind him. “so what i don’t get is why it’s awkward. like you obviously like him and he likes you so why aren’t you two making out right now?” “because he doesn’t like me,” ian mumbles again before idly playing with the silver under his hand. “but he kissed you,” skye says hopefully, because ian’s got this look like he’s an orphan puppy dog who’s just been kicked and spat on. “yeah, but then he bolted.” and ian sighs once more before heading to the front of the store.  
  
he gets there just in time to see mickey opening the front door. “where’re you going?” skye asks from somewhere behind ian. “clocking out early.” mickey replies looking ready to run out the door the way he ran away from ian the night before. “but your shift isn’t over yet.” skye exclaims, standing ahead of ian now. “yeah,” is mickey’s only response and he’s out the door. skye tries to go after him, but ian is grabbing at her arm pleading a silent “don’t” with his big, round doe eyes. and she’s asking a silent “why” with her equally big and equally doe-like eyes. ian sighs, letting her hand go and walking behind the counter.   
  
the rest of the day is quiet, the only noise being the soft clinks of the coins ian’s counting out on the counter and his grimaced, “ouch”s every time skye feels the need to kick his shin under the table, because he’s being stupid. mickey doesn’t come back.  
  
he’s there the next day though, pale skin and all. he comes in a bit late whilst ian is in the back fridge getting some drinks to restock, so skye has the pleasure of yelling out a, “late, milkovich!” (it’s been their thing for awhile now, if any of the three are late for any reason, the ones that are there get to yell out a late with an added last name. it’s all great fun).   
  
mickey mutters out a “yeah,” before retreating to the back of the store. ian walks out not too long after with a crate full of carbonated beverages. “mickey’s ba-a-a-ack!” skye annoyingly sing-songs annoyingly close to ian’s face. ian simply rolls his eyes and moves to put the drinks away. mickey scoffs and walks to the counter, “i never left, dip-shit. just clocked out early.” “yes, well it felt like you left. it was right boring without you here,” skye pouts at mickey and he smiles wide, because he always liked skye. “yeah, yeah. i’m sure it couldn’t be anymore boring than this shit hole usually is.” “you’re right. but usually i have a certain pale ex-con to entertain me.” mickey snorts, “you’re paler than me.” “nope” skye teases, popping the p. and ian watches them banter back and forth from behind the counter. he’s got his hand under his chin, a slight smile playing around his freckles.   
  
skye says she has to make a short errand for something (neither ian or mickey were paying much attention when she told them) and that she’ll be back soon. and as soon as the front door is shut mickey is locking the front door and pouncing on ian. he’s groping and dragging and clawing and tearing.   
  
the next decision ian makes can’t really be blamed on anything, except expectations. ian pushes mickey away. mickey’s body is ripped from his. mickey standing there panting, flushed, looking so fucking ready for it that ian has a moment where he wants to pull mickey back in and forget about this talk he wants to have about his feelings. he already knows what mickey’s preference would be, but he needs to do this. needs to talk about this.  
  
“mick,” ian tries softly. “what the fuck gallagher?!” mickey wants to yell but it comes out more of a whine (shut up he’s already half-hard). “mickey,” ian tries again, firmer this time. “what?!” mickey yells. “we need to talk.” mickey knows what ian’s suggesting before all the words get out of his mouth. his eyes shift from the front door to the back and repeat.   
  
“right, i knew you weren’t gonna want to talk-and you don’t have to, just listen ok.” ian says, “i don’t know what’s going on, really. because you kissed me the other day and, correct me if i’m wrong, but that was part of the deal-no kisses, no complications-and i’m just confused and i know you’re trying to avoid it, but i can’t do that. i’m a gallagher, we confront our problems, fears, demons, whatever. we fail or we conquer or we solve, either way we move on. but you avoiding me and this topic isn’t fucking helping me move on, mickey. and this,” ian gestures from himself to mickey, “is confusing enough without adding kisses into it y’know, just because that wasn’t the plan. but i like you and i know you’re probably gonna punch me in the face for that, but it’s the truth, man. and i know you’ve got this fucking self-loathing type shit going on and you probably won’t tell me the truth about whatever feelings you may or may not have, because it’s too fuckin’ gay for you or something. so the main question is why, i guess.”   
  
ian finishes his speech with a breath and stares at mickey. mickey’s eyes are panicked as they dart side to side, up and down, everywhere but the set of dark green eyes in front of him. because ian isn’t supposed to know him this well. he shouldn’t know about his intense self-loathing. he shouldn’t that mickey’s hiding something; especially feelings, for fucks sake. he finally (reluctantly) looks up at ian’s hopeful eyes. mickey sighs one of those really deep sighs (the ones that are usually thought induced) before kissing ian firmly on the mouth.  
  
he pulls back before ian has a chance to reciprocate. he smiles a bit at ian, “thanks for sticking around, gallagher.” then mickey is turning around, unlocking the front door. “wait,” ian gasps grabbing onto mickey’s forearm. and ian knows this is probably not a good idea. he knows he’s probably about to get his heartbroken, again. knows that mickey will most likely cut out his tongue or rip it out of his head or punch him in the dick or all of the above, even. he knows mickey’ll pull away and call him a faggot and how he’s “nothing but a warm mouth.” yet with all that can happen, ian does it anyway.   
  
he turns mickey around by his arm. he quickly pulls the ex-con flush with his chest. ian swoops down to capture mickey’s teeth-bitten lips. mickey reacts immediately, parting his lips. ian does the same, sliding his tongue in between the open space. he breathes out lowly and makes a grab for mickey’s ass. and the moan that follows sounds like it’s being punched out of mickey.   
  
and there’s a part of him that wants to take this farther. he wants to slam ian down on the floor of that damn convience store and fuck his lights out. but he doesn’t. simply because ian wouldn’t want that. ian wants a kiss, a make out session. ian wants feelings and talking and hand holding. and mickey wants ian to be happy so he can start with this. he can start with a simple kiss (though he’s not too sure about the hand holding bit, it’s all a little too gay for him).   
  
“are you gonna admit it now?” ian pants pulling away from mickey’s lip with an obscene pop. mickey grunts before looking up to meet ian’s eyes, “you’re alright, firecrotch.” and ian’s 100-watt smile comes out to play as mickey stands on his tip-toes to give ian another kiss. “fuckin’, gallaghers.” mickey mumbles before they hear loud high-pitched squeal. both ian and mickey turn their head towards the door to see no other than skye.   
  
“how the fuck did you get in?!” mickey says, voice full of hostility. “oh, calm down. no one else saw you being a complete fag,” she giggles with a wink, “but god, it took you two twats long enough.” ian shoves her playfully adding a sheepish, “shut up.” and yeah, mickey could used to seeing ian’s smiling face. and he thinks he might be in love with that smile, but no fucking way would he say that out loud. what does he look like, a faggot?


	2. Am I Fuckin' Cuddling?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Mickey, you're so pretty  
> Can't you understand  
> It's guys like you, Mickey  
> Oh, what you do, Mickey, do, Mickey  
> Don't break my heart, Mickey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fic that was supposed to be fluffy turned to barely there smut

“Are you drunk?” Mickey asks Ian although he already knows the answer, if his tilted stance and glazed over green eyes are anything to go by. “Mm. Maybe a little.” Ian giggles then hiccups swaying slightly. They’re sat in some posh loft Skye let them use for the weekend (they both knew they couldn’t use Mickey’s place and Ian’s is always filled with about 6-20 fucking children all the time).

“Go get me more beer.” Ian demands and Mickey just rolls his eyes snorting out a, “fuck off, Gallgher. Get your own fucking beer.” Ian just huffs and pouts and crosses his arms over his chest like a fucking three year old. And Mickey  _really_   shouldn't find that so damn endearing. “I’m not gettin’ you a beer. You’re drunk enough anyway, you don’t need anything else.”

Ian coos and crawls closer to where Mickey is sat legs-crossed on the white floor. “You care about my well being.” He says and his face is so damn close. Fucking shit. Mickey pushes him away and stands up to go get himself a beer, if not just to get Ian’s mouth and Ian’s face and Ian’s love and Ian’s warmth and Ian away from him. And if he grabs Ian a beer, well it’s just because they were right there and no, he doesn’t do things for Ian purposefully (fuck you). 

He comes back into the living room to find Ian stumbling around to some faggoty-ass Grouplove shit. “Here’s your fuckin’ beer, stumble fuck.” Ian takes the beer and guzzles half of it down in one go gratefully. “The hell is a stumble fuck?” He asks setting the rest of the beer on the wooden coffee table they’ve moved out of the way. “Something you call someone who’s stumblin’ around drunk, I don’t fucking know. I heard Skye say it before.” Ian shrugs before going back to something similar to a tribal dance.

Mickey’s lounging on the couch, nursing his lukewarm beer when the song abruptly changes. The first line he hears is,  _Oh Mickey, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind_. And his head is shooting up, meeting Ian’s hazy gaze. The younger of the two shoots him a wink before cutting the song up a bit more.

“OH, MICKEY, YOU’RE SO FINE, YOU’RE SO FINE YOU BLOW MY MIND.” Ian shouts at the top of his drunken lungs sashaying closer to where Mickey is seated. Mickey just stares at him whilst he continues to sing. “You’ve been around all and that’s a little long. You think you’ve got the right, but I think you’ve got it wrong.“ 

Mickey gapes at Ian’s horrible sing and equally horrendous dancing. But soon, Ian is tumbling into Mickey’s lap. He straddles him pushing his face close and whispers, “‘Cause when you say you will, it always means you won’t. You’re givin’ me the chills, baby. Please, baby don’t. Every night you still leave me alone, Mickey.”

He stands holding his heart dramatically and yells, “OH, MICKEY, WHAT A PITY, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. YOU TAKE ME BY THE HEART, WHEN YOU TAKE ME BY THE HAND.”  Ian holds Mickey’s gaze as he lowers his voice. “Oh, Mickey, you’re so pretty, can’t you understand. It’s guys like you, Mickey. Oh, what you do, Mickey, do, Mickey. Don’t break my heart, Mickey.” And Mickey knows it’s supposed to be some kind of cute joke, but the fucking look in Gallagher’s eyes when he sung those lines made something strange and familiar twist in his heart.

But Mickey doesn’t have all too much time to be wary about this uncomfortable churn in his stomach because now Ian is stood on the wooden coffee table (his bare feet having kicked off the half empty beer bottle). He’s swaying around, singing  _still_. “Now when you take me by the Whooo’s, who’s ever gonna know.” Ian winks again as Mickey comes closer to the table, “And every time you move, I let a little more show. There’s something you can use, so don’t say no, Mickey.”

“Fuckin’, Gallagher. Get the fuck down before you break something.” Ian simply ignores him and pulls of his shirt. “So come on and give it to me, any way you can. Anyway you want to do it; I’ll take it like a man. Oh, please, baby, please, don’t leave me in the damn, Mickey.” Ian does that giggle-hiccup thing before slipping on some scrap paper and almost falling off the damn coffee table.

Mickey pulls Ian off the table and to the bedroom, trying desperately to hide his hard on. But of course, fucking Gallagher noticed. “You’re hard for me, Mickey.” He plops himself on the plush bed looking hazily at the guy in front of him. “Shut the fuck up.” Mickey says, trying not to redden (because he doesn’t fucking blush, shut up).

Ian rolls over from where he had his head smashed into the pillow, “can I suck you off?” Mickey almost crumbles under Ian’s look, “You’re drunk off your ass, Gallagher.” “So.” “So, no.” Ian then takes it upon himself to crawl half on top of Mickey, straddling him again. “Please.” Ian fucking  _whimpers_  (which is ridiculous, because Mickey’s the one about to receive a drunken blowjob).

Mickey’s fly is down before he can push Ian away (not like he wants to, but being the oldest and the only one not drunk he thinks he should). And Ian’s mouth is on Mickey’s cock and honestly being responsible is the last thing on his mind. He and Ian aren’t usually that into oral, but when it happens-it happens (Ian usually sucks Mickey’s cock like his life fucking depends on it). And this time is no different.

Ian sucks off Mickey with the fuck-all attitude he carries around. His tongue dawdles on the head, sometimes going to the base and licking up the underside. Mickey can’t help but buck up into Ian’s mouth and Ian just fucking takes it all. “I need-” Ian stops at that, “What do you need, baby?” He rasps out, throat having been thoroughly fucked. “Fuck you,” Mickey breathes out before tugging Ian’s hair trying to hurt him. But it turns out that’s what  _Ian_  needs, because he lets out a moan that is way too loud for someone with a cock down their throat.

Mickey tugs Ian’s hair again (to warn him that he’s about to come). But Ian just breathes out of his nose once, opening up his throat. And when Mickey comes down Ian’s throat, he takes it like the submissive one he is. And it gets a bit hot in the room when some of Mickey’s come ends up dripping off the bottom of Ian’s lip and he chases after it with his tongue. 

“Fuck.” Is all Mickey can gasp as Ian lies down again. Mickey doesn’t get up, decides to stay with Ian for the night (he just wants to make sure Ian doesn’t break anything because Skye will have his ass, okay). He lies down next to Ian, sure to keep enough distance between them so it’s not weird. But Ian has always been a bit too touchy-feely when he’s drunk. He flings his arms and legs across Mickey’s body and nuzzles his head into Mickey’s neck. And fuck, if Mickey’s gonna push him off. Ian yawns a little before his nose brushes over Mickey’s cheek. Fuck him. Fuck the little puppy like 16 year old splayed across his body. Maybe it’s because Mickey’s pretty damn fond of Ian, maybe it’s because he likes him a bit. But Mickey grudgingly turns over to drape himself over Ian. And one thought crossed his mind before falling asleep that night, am I fucking cuddling?

 

* * *

 

Mickey’s already in the kitchen when Ian wakes up. “My favorite scene. Honey in the kitchen.” “Fuck off, Gallagher. Just because we fuck doesn’t mean I won’t kick your fucking ass.” Ian smirks before rounding the counter and plopping his chin on his hand. “So we cuddled last night.” Mickey freezes. “No we didn’t.” “Yeah, we did. Don’t worry it was cute.” Mickey has to physically stop himself from punching Ian in the face right then. But he doesn’t stop himself from pushing Ian off the stool he’s sat on. And that push doesn’t stop Ian from catching Mickey’s lips in a kiss. And maybe that kiss was worth the gay cuddle last night. Maybe.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it!!!


	3. Are we gonna bake or are we gonna bake?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If we’re gonna bake, we’re gonna fucking bake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fic of domestic-y things

“So, I’m leaving for the weekend.” Skye says, barely catching the attention of the two boys working in the store. “Mhm. That’s nice.” Ian mumbles stacking cans of soup. “Yeah, which means my loft is open.” Mickey’s eyes shoot up at that. “Oh?” “Yeah and I need someone to water the plants, pick up the newspapers, etcetera.”

“I think I’m free this weekend,” Ian tries to say casually but his voice gives away his thoughts of fuck fuck fucking fuck. “Yeah me, too.” Mickey gulps side eyeing Ian. Skye giggles and claps her heads to together like a fucking seal, “well that settles it then! Have fun, boys!” And with that she leaves an extra pair of keys on the front counter and goes off to do whatever the fuck she does these days (Ian nor Mickey really know).

Mickey’s already at the loft when Ian comes charging in, two hands full of groceries. “Y’know, Skye’s got food here, right?” Mickey asks eyeing the bags. “She doesn’t have what we  _need_.” Ian pushes past Mickey to place the bags on the counter and begins to unload. “Need for what,” Mickey starts, “what the fuck is all this shit?” He stares at Ian, eyebrows arched and eyes wide.

“We’re gonna bake!” Ian jumps and squeals and claps like Skye did earlier, but gayer. “You look like a fuckin’ gay seal.” Mickey scoffs before walking into the living room. “Whatever, where are you going Mick?! We’ve gotta get started.” “I’m not fuckin’ baking shit, Gallagher.” “Why the fuck not? I do the weird shit you ask me to do.” Ian whines sitting cross legged on the couch opposite from Mickey. “Like what?” Mickey challenges, glaring at the red head. Ian accepts the challenge and tilts his head a bit to the side. “Like that ben wa bead shit. And remember the whips and chains? And when you told me to cum on your face.”

Mickey’s eyes shoot downcast as he mumbles out a, “that was one time fuck off.” “Try four for the benoits and three for the cum.” “Whatever still, fuck off.” “You can’t do that.” Ian pouts, “please.” Mickey folds under the pressure from Ian’s voice (and his pouty lips but he wouldn’t ever admit it). “Fine. Fuck, but if we’re doing this, we’re doing this right.” Mickey grumbles standing up from the couch and heading to his bag.

Ian’s so excited he can barely stand still. Mickey pulls out a plastic bag full of what is obviously weed. “If we’re gonna bake, we’re gonna fucking bake.” He takes in Ian’s antsy form, “and stop jumping.” Ian stops and frowns at the bag, “we’re not making brownies. I hate brownies.” Mickey scowls looking the red head in the face “who the fuck hates brownies? And fine we’ll make something else.” “Mm. What about a bundt cake with chocolate frosting?” “What the hell is that?” “What chocolate frosting?” Ian smirks and Mickey shoves him. “No smart ass, a bundt cake."

Ian ignores Mickey and scrounges through Skye's cabinets. "Ah, fuck. She doesn't have any bundt pans." Mickey shrugs, "we can make red velvet cake instead." Ian eyes the older boy, who's now got his head propped up and tilted to the side, blue eyes shining up at Ian's and breaks out into a grin. "You like red velvet cake?" Mickey shrugs again, "never had one, I wanted to try." Ian's face morphs into something like disgust and bafflement. "Well, god yes."

Ian takes out all the necessary ingredients and kitchen utensils and things Mickey's never seen in his life. He pulls out the container of cannabutter from Skye's fridge and gets to work. Mickey watches him mix flour, salt, baking powder and baking soda in a ball. An hour later and Ian is looking up at him exasperated. "You're not helping." "I don't know what the fuck to do." Ian sighs and slides the pan filled with batter into the preheated oven. "Honey in the kitchen isn't doing much today." "Fucking watch it, Gallagher." "You don't call me Ian enough." Ian mumbles, pulling out another clean bowl. "What?" "Nothing. Here, you can do the icing." 

Ian instructs Mickey on how to beat the butter and add the cream cheese.  "You, uh, you've got a little. On your face." Ian tries to say through his giggles. Mickey gets antsy and swats at his face, making more of a mess. "Here. Let me." Instead of being a normal person and getting a napkin to wipe the frosting off Mickey's face, Ian's got to be a fucking freak and lick it off. He licks over the side of Mickey's mouth until all the frosting is gone. "Fuck you." Mickey croaks out before beating the white gunk in the bowl. 

A full two and 20 minutes later and the cake is finally done. And in the next two minutes Mickey is grabbing a handful. "You could've waited for a fucking knife and fork, you savage." Mickey looks up at Ian, mouth full of the red cake, "yeah, that'd be no fun." Ian looks at Mickey with a look at should be filled with disgust, but is instead filled with fondness. 

"Fucking shit, that was good." Mickey grumbles. Ian is splayed out on the white (now slightly stained with red) floor beneath Mickey's feet and simply grunts in response, "You should try it when it's not smothered in weed." Mickey rolls his eyes at that, like he'd ever be baking again. And as if the red headed little fuck could read his mind, he mumbles out a, "Yeah, we're doing this again." Mickey doesn't even try to protest, there's no use. "Christ, I am fucking high." Ian moans turning over from his spot on the couch, smearing more icing and cake. "You didn't even eat that much, fuckin' lightweight."

Ian's jumped onto the couch by now, his red velvet stained making the couch worst than it already is. Mickey turns his head to get a mouthful of Gallagher's lips. Usually he would push Ian away, usually he wouldn't let it get this far. But there's drugs in his system and he lets this one time go by. Ian catches on to that fact, apparently, because he pushes Mickey backwards. Mickey reciprocates a bit by sticking his tongue in Ian's mouth (only to please him because no he doesn't enjoy this, he's not fucking gay). 

Ian sighs happily and settles in between Mickey's legs. His mouth moves to bite along Mickey's jaw. He bites and licks and kisses and repeat, eliciting groans from the older of the two. He hits behind Mickey's ear and god fucking dammit, Ian knows that's his weak spot. Mickey moans louder than any guy should by just getting licked behind the ear. Fuck. 

Ian pulls back from Mickey with a smile (the fucker). "You like kissing me, don't you?" "Fuck off, babe." Mickey says no real fire hidden in the words. Ian crawls on Mickey's lap despite his minimal protests and, "Babe? That's new." "Yeah well it's something I picked up from Skye, gotta stop hangin' with that chick." Ian hums looking upside down at Mickey's face, "Hm. I like it, it's cute." Mickey scowls at the word but when he sees Ian's slightly pouted face he smiles, because hey, maybe it is cute.

 

 

* * *

 

"Fucking, christ! What the hell did you do to my kitchen?!" Skye starts to yell, but immediately stops when she sees her two boys wrapped around each other, pieces of dried cake on their faces. She knows she can't stay mad at them and it'd be rude to interrupt their sleep so she does what any best friend would do. She takes some of the cake and smears it on both of their faces and hair. She takes the rest and walks off to her room. "That'll show them, I think." She hums to herself, licking icing off her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it!! x x x

**Author's Note:**

> ((also the next parts wwill be in upper case sorry about that!!))


End file.
